Punch
Metadata
Highlights
- A week later in my apartment late at night, the punching clown and I were playing our favorite songs for each other and I played Kristin Hersh’s “Me and My Charms” because I loved that song so much, it wasn’t a test, I just wanted to play that song, we were probably stoned. But when the song started I remembered how dark it was, a song about losing your mind, a song about wanting love but knowing you’re not light enough or sturdy enough to get it. So I start to talk, and once I really start talking and a song I love is playing I lose my balance completely, the residual texture of the day floods my senses, the residual tone of the moment sinks me, the possibility that I’d found someone I could follow lights up my nerve endings, and soon I was crying and explaining and crying some more and explaining that. (View Highlight)
- I rediscovered my charms. I grew arrogant, and my arrogance revealed the truth: These punches are poetry, but they never connect, because he never connects the dots. He doesn’t learn from his mistakes. He wobbles but he doesn’t fall down. Pity him.
Falling down isn’t the same thing as falling apart. I wasn’t the crazy one. The crazy one is the one who never changes, never adapts, never surprises you, never stops talking about summer camp and French fries. It’s fun but it’s not healthy. It’s light but it’s not real. The crazy one never gets lost. He stays in one place but he talks like he’s having a great adventure. (View Highlight)
title: “Punch”
author: “Heather Havrilesky”
url: ”https://askmolly.substack.com/p/punch”
date: 2023-12-19
source: reader
tags: media/articles
Punch
Metadata
Highlights
- A week later in my apartment late at night, the punching clown and I were playing our favorite songs for each other and I played Kristin Hersh’s “Me and My Charms” because I loved that song so much, it wasn’t a test, I just wanted to play that song, we were probably stoned. But when the song started I remembered how dark it was, a song about losing your mind, a song about wanting love but knowing you’re not light enough or sturdy enough to get it. So I start to talk, and once I really start talking and a song I love is playing I lose my balance completely, the residual texture of the day floods my senses, the residual tone of the moment sinks me, the possibility that I’d found someone I could follow lights up my nerve endings, and soon I was crying and explaining and crying some more and explaining that. (View Highlight)
- I rediscovered my charms. I grew arrogant, and my arrogance revealed the truth: These punches are poetry, but they never connect, because he never connects the dots. He doesn’t learn from his mistakes. He wobbles but he doesn’t fall down. Pity him.
Falling down isn’t the same thing as falling apart. I wasn’t the crazy one. The crazy one is the one who never changes, never adapts, never surprises you, never stops talking about summer camp and French fries. It’s fun but it’s not healthy. It’s light but it’s not real. The crazy one never gets lost. He stays in one place but he talks like he’s having a great adventure. (View Highlight)